


Magenta Ribbons

by Raisincookies



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Butt Plugs, Daddy Kink, Dark Natasha Romanov, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/F, F/M, Gags, M/M, Mommy Kink, Non-Consensual Spanking, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Toys, dark bucky barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22217950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raisincookies/pseuds/Raisincookies
Summary: Natasha Romanov is in a relationship with Bucky Barnes; together they have acquired a reluctant submissive.  This story originally focused on a scene between the reader and Natasha as she acts out her mommy kink desires but I've decided to add a few more chapters.Please read the warning tags.  This story contains non-consensual acts of BDSM.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Natasha Romanov (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 46
Kudos: 237





	1. Chapter 1

Nails scraped painfully across the nipping flesh of your burning ass cheeks and you let out a pained whimper around the gag currently lodged in your mouth; a muffled squeal emanating at the sharp spank to your tender bottom which followed in quick succession. You hadn’t heard her return to the room, which wasn’t much of a surprise; everything which Natasha did was stealth. She moved like the assassin you knew that she was. Her bare feet whispered silently over the soft pile of the pale cream carpet of your bedroom, the bedroom door left opened perpetually and allowed no privacy to whatever show might be on display. Right now, you were cuffed belly down on the bed; your arms stretched up to the headboard and a bolster pillow wedged under your hips which propped your bottom rudely up into the air.

Natasha always paid attention to the little details, she wasn’t content to redden your bottom to a shade akin to her own coiffed bob for your transgressions; no. She would hammer home her little lessons by some added humiliation which only served to remind you, inexplicitly, of the hierarchy here. Hence the bolster. There was not that you could do to lessen the way in which this position served to spread your cheeks ever-so-slightly, or the way in which your waxed pussy was peaking out from between the tops of your pinkened thighs.

You sniffle nosily despite your tears having long since ceased, the salty track marks had dried uncomfortably on your blindfolded face and left the apples of your cheeks feeling tight and brittle.

The bed beneath you dipped as she climbed on and swung one powerful leg over the top of you so that she sat straddling the back of your thighs; your burning red rump within easy reach of her unsympathetic wandering hands. She grazed her fingers delicately over the mottled flesh and her thumbs strayed deftly between the valley of your cheeks and pressed unforgivingly at the broad stainless-steel plug currently spreading your tight hole. You let out a muted moan.

She abandoned playing with toy for a moment; her soft cool hands ran soothingly up the curve of your lower back and her thumbs superficially rubbing away your tension as they travelled up the length of your spin until they reached the nape of you neck. At this point her body was pressed tightly against yours; the buttery leather of her plum leggings and black silk blouse slid against your flesh and served to remind you of your nakedness as you lay bound and vulnerable beneath her. She buried her nose into the soft tangle of your hair, falling lose from its previously neat ponytail, and inhaled the sweet aroma of your shampoo; crab apple and honey blossom.

You lay still and compliant under her weight; the only movement was the nervous shudder of your breathing when she turned her head, her tongue flicking out to lick a teasing stripe up the shell of your ear as though she was licking the foam from her morning cappuccino. A loan tear dribbled from the corner of your eye and slid over the bridge of your nose before soaking in to the material which covered your vision.

Her breath tickled your ear as she spoke softly to you.

“Are you ready to start behaving again, baby?” she asked. Her voice soft but goading as though daring you to do something non-compliant.

You didn’t want to concede. You didn’t want to submit. Your nostrils flared in your annoyance and you attempted to take a deep breath hoping that it would calm your fury; a difficult task as Natasha continued to press down upon you. Her full and ample breasts crushed against your back. You longed to fight and shake your head and tell her to fuck off. You wanted to be victorious against her; but bound as you were you knew that you were in no position to become the victor and your heart shuddered as the sad acceptance of that trickled over you like molasses.

You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a small cry of defeat from behind your gag as you nodded. Her rouged lips curled in a victorious smirk and she leaned forward to press a velvety kiss against your flushed face.

“Good girl,” she simpered as she rose back to her sitting position on the backs of your thighs.

Her agile fingers immediately sought out your burning globes once again; this time she squeezed the flesh of each tightly in each hand, renewing the searing pain caused earlier by the leather strap. You cried out and buried your face in your arms as fresh sobs bubbled in your throat. It had clearly been too much to hope that your punishment was over; addressed sternly by a well skelped bottom and an hour bound to your bed in a timeout.

Her hands released you suddenly before they slapped down in two solid spanks. You whined. You heard a little peel of laughter from her and you bristled; somehow the idea that she found amusement in your plight brought a fresh wave of humiliation down upon you and your tears came in earnest. She reached forward again, her hands stroking soothingly over your back as she shushed and cooed at you. It was easier when she treated you like this, her softer nurturing side generally meant she would go easier on you. It would be easier for you to stay like this, soft and compliant in her arms; but sooner or later her pseudo motherly routine would grate upon you and you would lash out and her darkness would resurface. Then the dance would begin again.

How many times they had been through this routine, you could not remember. It must have been months; you had watched from the window as summer faded to fall and then to winter. Spring was in the process of springing and yet here you were; still trapped in this ever present hell of submitted to the Black Widow. Your prison was this house and your cell was this room; painted peach and furnished with French style white furniture as though you were living inside a giant blob of cupcake frosting. Your wardrobe was festooned in ribbons and bows and ruffles; you use to snarl at the sight of them but, early on, you had learned to make peace with them after they had been confiscated during one of your particularly wilful episodes.

Your tears faded and tender touches soon flittered away and her hand returned once more to your ruby buttocks and deftly sought out the plug which still uncomfortably filled your channel. She clutched the little handle which protruded from between your splayed cheeks and give it a little twist. You moaned. She gave it a tug. You whined. Then she pulled. You groaned as the smooth steel of the orb fought evacuation past the tight ring of muscle which clenched at it as though your body was reluctant to see it go; nothing could be further from the truth. Its weight impaled you and hung heavily within you, creating an uncomfortable presser at your opening. Its size spread you painfully wide to the point which you could to nothing to distract yourself from its alien presence within you.

Natasha continued to slide the object out of you, your tight ring expanding out at the girthiest point of the plug before she paused and held it there as you stretched around it unpleasantly; you mewled self piteously as you wilted.

“You’ve been particularly fractious today, my love.” She informed you in her ever-calm tone; she released her grip on the plug and watched as it sank quickly back inside you again.

She pulled at it a few more times, each time bringing the toy to the same point and holding it there for her own amusement.

“Such a big plug for such a tight little asshole, baby.” She teased. “Do you remember why your punishment plug is so big?”

You nodded into the sheet and emanated a small moan.

“Because when you’re a pain my ass, I’ll be a pain in your ass.” You could tell she was smiling, pleased by her own humour despite how torturously and crudely filled you were.

“I thought perhaps your behaviour was improving; I thought perhaps you had learned that there are consequences in disobeying and yet here we are again, baby. Having to correct your behaviour once more.”

Natasha tutted loudly as though exasperated but never-the-less ceased her hold on the plug. You felt her wriggle atop you and then finally her weight was gone. A shellac noir nail scraped its way down the length of your leg, it tickled as much as it smarted and you fought the urge to twitch away as it continued its descent. Your ankles were soon released from their cuffs; nails scratched at your delicate ankles as the buckles were release and the suede lined white leather restrains removed.

She slapped the tender flesh of your left thigh and left behind an almost instantaneous pink handprint on your milky skin.

“Spread them,” she ordered.

Despite your reticence you hastened to comply; the abuse of your stretched bottom and surrounding flesh, still throbbing and pulsating, was fresh in your mind and Natasha seemed to be in a particularly unforgiving mood today. With your bottom still raised up and your legs spread you provided a sight lascivious enough to please Natasha; if only for a short while.

She stood back and admired her charge for moment; her hungry eyes roaming over your naked body as you lay gagged, bound and posed on the bed. You were a tasty sight to behold. The magenta bow which swept back your loose curls was crooked and dishevelled, your chubby babyface was flushed and sticky with sweat and tears, the globes of your rounded bottom were stripped with varying shades of red depending on which implement had struck where. The area between your cheeks and around the plug glistened with lube and below that was the puffy bald lips of your pussy.

She turned and selected a narrow but ridged tawse from a rack of implements which hung as a permanent feature on your bedroom wall; she tested its lack of flexibility against her hand as she returned to your side.

The back of her hand stroked tenderly over the apple of your cheek.

“Hopefully this will snuff out your little act of defiance and you can go back to being my good girl again, sweetheart.”

You wailed out from behind your gag as the stiff leather cracked painfully between your splayed legs and snapped against your tender cunt. You gasped for breath as you wriggled on the bed, your legs snapping shut as you sought something, anything, to relieve the ache.

Natasha stood patiently and waited for your theatrics to dissipate before tapping the back of your leg with the tawse.

“Legs spread again, baby. You have five more coming.” She held no hesitation in her tone, her instruction came clear and crisp.

You sobbed at her words but knew where was no way of dissuading her; it took you a moment but after a while you shakily spread your legs open once more as your trembling fingers fisted the sheets beneath you.

Five more times the tawse struck your flesh until the end left you howling and your pussy tender, pink and swollen from each unforgiving strike. Your face and sheet beneath you were damp with drool which leaked from behind the gag which filled your mouth.

By the time you had calmed yourself, the cuffs which had secured your arms to the top of the bed had been removed. Daylight flooded your vision as she tugged off the blindfold and you blinked rapidly as your eyesight adjusted.

“Come and kneel on the floor, honey,” Natasha cooed to you.

You peeled yourself from the sheets on wobbling arms, the sheets were rumbled and damp with your sweat. Your body ached with each minute movement both from your punishment and from spending so long in such a prone position, yet you tried to hurry, as feeble as it might have been. Your knees sank into the thick carpet as you settled in front of her; her leather clad thighs directly in your field of vision. She stepped closer, reached down to unbuckle the gag; she teased you by grinding her covered crotch against your face as she did so, but you steeled yourself and forced yourself to be compliant. She removed the gag; pale pink, silicon and moulded into the shape of a stubby penis for that extra dose of shame. It glistened wet with your saliva. Your jaw ached from being so forcibly stuffed and skin under where the strap had been was clammy and itchy.

“I bet that feels good to get that dick out of your mouth, sweetheart?”

She was teasing you and you flushed in embarrassment at her words; now that the gag was removed you knew she expected an answer.

“Yes, mommy,” you responded tearfully.

You hoped that you would appease her by calling her that, an act of submission following your earlier display of defiance.

Natasha smiled darkly at the much coveted title, bestow upon her, with no prompting. She knew you were trying to appease her to avoid further chastisement, but she basked in the glory of victory regardless.

“Are you ready to apologise to mommy for being so disobedient?” she asked

Your lip trembled but you gave her a reluctant nod as the tears welled in your eyes; Natasha smiled triumphantly.

“Crawl through to mommy’s room. Hands and knees,” she prompted.

Slowly you rolled forward until you held yourself up on all fours and started to crawl forward. Natasha walked slowly behind you and your face burned as you felt her eyes upon you. The ache in your swollen cunt dictated the slow pace of your movement as you struggled to avoid brushing your thighs against it; your bottom, still scarlet, had started to bruise a dark purple in areas as the silvery sheen of your plug bobbed and wiggled inside of you.

By the time you made it through to her bedroom, Natasha had, somewhere along the way, divested herself of her leggings. She bounced energetically up onto the super-king bed and draped herself back on the mountain of pillows which scattered its breadth; bending her knees and spreading her legs she snapped her fingers at you and curled a finger, motioning for you to come closer.

“Come on, princess. Mommy’s waiting for you to come and apologise.”

You clambered onto the bed; your mount visibly less eager than Natasha’s had been as you reluctantly settled between her splayed thighs. Her pussy was neat and tight with just a tease of her inner folds peaking through the slit of her peach. Unlike you, Natasha had kept a thin column of her dark red pubic hair; the non-consensual divestment of yours had initially made you feel exposed and even now you couldn’t help but be a tad resentful about it.

She smirked up at you lazily but the glint in her eyes told you to make a move.

Timidly you placed your hands on her inner thighs and slowly buried your face between them; licking at her slit with one slow, long stroke of your tongue. You heard her sigh from above you. It took you a few more swipes of your tongue before you settled into it, your numerous oral lessons quickly flooded back to you as your pressed your face further into her wet pussy.

You nipped teasingly at her soft swollen lips and flicked repetitively at her sensitive clit. You changed it up and teased her hole with your tongue as your nail grazed the delicate skin of her perineum. You changed pace. You change tactic. You changed pressure. Until Natasha lay wriggling on the bed beneath you with her juices smeared across your face. When she came, she came hard. Her fingers twisted painfully hard into your hair and her thighs clenched around your head with a vice like grip until you swore you would be smother by her pussy. She roared from above, ordering you not to stop and so you continued to lap at her sopping hole as she convulsed around you and the oxygen was drained from your lungs.

When she finally released you from her grip you flopped back onto the bed and gasped a lung full of air. You were a mess, covered in her cum and your own drool and sweat and tears; your hair was now a birds nest of tangles. You looked up at Natasha as she lounged back on the bed, fully recovered from her orgasm and not a hair out of place. Her painted rouge smile curled into a satisfied smile.

“Your daddy will be so pleased when I tell him what a good job you did eating my pussy.”

The End

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please read the warning tags. This story involves non-con acts with a reluctant submissive and a stuffed bunny rabbit.
> 
> This story was originally intended as a one shot between Natasha and Reader however I've decided to add a few more chapters. I hope you enjoy

Following that afternoon’s exploits as Natasha’s reluctant concubine you were more than happy to be allowed some time to yourself to shower away the tears, sweat and other bodily fluids which crusted your skin. The agate tiling was cool against your heated flesh and provided an appealing contrast against the scalding water as you cranked up the thermostat and scrubbed yourself until you were raw and almost as pink as your punished derrière.

Natasha had finally bent you over the bathroom vanity and relieved you of the heavy plug and you had groaned in relief as it popped passed your tight ring of muscles and left you feeling empty. She shooed you into the shower, with orders to clean yourself up and wash your hair. You didn’t need to be told twice as you drowned yourself in the sweetly scented foams and lathers.

When you emerged from the steam Natasha was waiting for you; ready to relieve you of your towel as you stood bare and exposed whilst she rubbed every inch of your skin with thick raspberry scented moisturiser. Her skilful hands paid close attention to every sensitive area of your flesh; she cupped your humble breasts and circled your nipples with her thumbs until they pebbled painfully hard and rosy. She made certain not to forget the delicately ticklish areas at the nape of your neck and the small of your back; the ones she frequently would press soft kisses to, or a teasing swipe of her tongue, and watched in amusement as you let out an involuntary spasm. Her deft fingers continued on; massaging product into the rounded curve of your hip, her nails scraped the divots of the thin silvery stretchmarks which had appeared during your teenage years when your weight had fluctuated, then on to the softness of your belly and thighs.

Compared to Natasha’s solid body, you were a little bit rounder, a little bit chunkier, a little bit softer and a little bit shorter. It was of no surprise to you how easily the assassin was able to overpower you; not that that would stop you from trying to fight back on the frequent occasions when your self-preservation had fled your system. Like this morning. But you were back to being her docile doll again; pampered and cleaned and buffed. Sitting quietly like a shop mannequin as Natasha proceeded to dry and curl the soft waves of your hair until they shone and bounced healthily around your shoulders. She scooped up the sides and tied them up and away from your face with the same silky magenta ribbon you had worn earlier.

You watched her reflection in the mirror as she smiled dreamily at you; your soft babyface pale against the rosy apples of your cheeks and the natural pink hue of your plump lips.

“A beautiful princess once again,” Natasha teased as she fussed at you. “Do you think you learned your lesson today, my little love?”

You nodded timidly. It was a ridiculous question, one which should have remained rhetorical but you didn’t have the guts to ignore her; the bruising of your bottom a throbbing reminder. You fought the urge to roll your eyes at her and respond sarcastically by requesting another dose.

She narrowed her eyes at you, as though she could read your mind; had heard your rebellious thoughts and your defiant urges. As though she was burrowing deep into your psyche and was ready to expose and punish you for whims never acted upon. She hummed thoughtfully and loosely massaged your shoulders after a brief minute of pondering.

“Come, Bucky will be home soon.”

You were setting the table for dinner when you felt his cerulean blue eyes upon your back; appearing as though from thin air like an ominously looming black shadow of doom. For the hulking mass of muscle he was, he was as light on his feet as his red-haired lover. He startled you and you shrank under his penetrating and scrutinising gaze as his eyes roamed your body. Natasha had dressed you in a pastel pink cropped hoodie and a pair of sheer rumba pants in the same shade; they were festooned across the rear with rows and rows of the same frilly material with oversized bows sown over both of your hip bones. You thought they looked ridiculous but at the same time appreciated the modicum of modesty they allowed.

You dropped the cutlery with a clank on the shiny frosted glass table as he caught you unawares. He was an enigma to you; never quite sure if that glint in his eye was the same carnal lust which Natasha seemed to possess; or if it was complete distain for you. You felt like you would resent it more if it was the later; you had no great desire to insert yourself into their apparent domestic bliss. However, you strongly suspected that Bucky would sooner dispose of you in a wood-chipper than grant you your freedom. Regardless of what he thought, you knew that Natasha was smitten with your company; at least for now, until she got bored.

He smirked when he spotted the blemished skin peaking innocuously from the sides of your panties; evidence of Natasha’s capabilities when it came to wielding the leather strap. Your face burned.

Natasha glided into the kitchen and you watched as he caught her around the waist; scooping her up in one strong vibranium arm and they kissed each other deeply, like lovers who hadn’t seen one another for months. As though they had pined for one another over a chasm of distance and time and had finally been reunited; in reality, he had only been gone for a few hours. Natasha carded her strong fingers through his hair and tugged harshly on the ends, he moaned into her mouth as both of their tongues fought greedily for dominance.

You looked away before they stopped; eager to be inconspicuous in the hope that they would leave you out of their little reunion. You quietly resumed setting the table.

Dinner passed by slowly; they ignored you as you picked over your plate of tomatoey pasta. Their conversation flowed and they paid no mind to what they spoke of in front of you; Stark and Rogers, you recognised those names as once-upon-a-time hero’s but these days you had no clue if they could be the light or if they were part of the darkness in your new existence. You left at least half of your meal once you decided you were full; the starchy fare lay heavily in your belly and you could barely stomach the notion of swallowing any more. Dinner was over.

You had risen to help clear the table when Bucky’s strong fingers clenched tightly around your arm; tugging you over until you landed ungracefully across his lap with an oomph. You knew better than to struggle but that didn’t stop the surge of panic which flooded your body; it made your chest ache with a wobbling nausea and your toes curl. Floor to ceiling windows loomed in front of you, but darkness had fallen and obscured the view of the valley and treetops which you knew faded far into the distance; instead the darkness allowed the window to reflect back a mirror image of yourself bent reluctantly and rigidly over his knee.

He tugged your panties down until they pooled tangled and inside-out around your ankles. Your eyes watered immediately; your bruised bottom still ached from its brutal punishment and its throbbing demonstrated little possibility of easing up any time soon. There was no way you could take another beating right now and the mere thought of it was rapidly driving you to hysterics.

He gently traced one of your bruises with the tip of his index finger; seemingly fascinated with the markings which sullied your flesh. You met his dark eyes in the glass as your distress began to build.

“P…please. It already hurts so much,” you begged him. You weren’t above begging.

He smirked at you and you watched as Natasha moved around him; handing him a small butt plug which he gleefully showed you in the reflection; it wasn’t the most offensive size that you’d seen, but it wasn’t the size that made your lower lip tremble and pout. Attached to the outer portion of the toy was a fluffy white bunny tail; puffy and hideously oversized.

He shifted his leg with no warning and expertly moved yours so that one was now trapped awkwardly against his crotch and the other grasped tightly between his thick, strong thighs. The position exposed your pussy and he said nothing for a moment, instead focusing on pressing his rough, callused fingers to your tragically sensitive bud, slipping them over and over until your whimpering increased in volume. Then, to your utter humiliation, the wetness began to grow and you whined at the discovery of the truth of your arousal.

“Oh doll,” he smirked at your reflection and scooped up a fist full of your hair and tugged you upwards until your ear was at his mouth. You could feel his lips brush against your lobe as he spoke, his voice low and rumbling, “you are a very naughty little girl indeed, aren’t you? Weeping and wailing and moaning as though we’re inflicting torture on you; and here I find that, all this time, you’ve been enjoying it.”

The plug was cold as he pressed it into your wet cunt; you tried to wriggle forward and away from the intrusion but his hold on you was too tight and there was nowhere for you go. There was nothing you could do but lay there and watch as he fucked you with the little toy until it was well wetted by your own arousal. His end game was to, without hesitation, press it smoothly into your bottom. It wasn’t sore, but you cried out in indignation at the act all the same and slumped in defeat over Bucky’s knee.

His cool vibranium fingers kneaded the tense muscles at the base of your neck whilst his other pushed down lightly on your lower back and held you in place. Soft hands, Natasha’s, cupped your bottom.

“She does try to deny so sweetly,” Natasha stated softly, you gasped as Natasha pressed two fingers into you, “but this evasive little flower doesn’t lie.”

She continued to work her dexterous fingers within you, teasing you until your wetness coated your thighs and noises of your own hesitant arousal could easily be heard with every move of her slender digits. The familiar flutters titillated in your lower belly and you wriggled a little in your prone position. Her fingers teased inside of you; curling into your slick walls; you were close and they could both tell. Your body grew tense and your thigh muscles quivered as you dug your toes into the polished marble floor. You could feel yourself clenching around her as she continued to work you; then without warning pulled herself free.

A protesting cry bubbled from your lips and you sank dejectedly; your once taught muscles now let your limbs hang loosely to the floor. Bucky stood, flipped you expertly in his arms until he was cradling you like a baby. His eyes narrowed darkly as he looked down at you stoically, his jaw set and seemed to tighten as he swallowed. His frown lines deepened on his forehead and between his thick brows. He looked menacing and he looked intimidating; you held your breath and looked up at him with frightened eyes. All thoughts of your robbed orgasm dissipated rapidly.

There was not much that could make you forget that you were at the mercy of Widow and the Winter Soldier; there was no part of any day that that fact came flooding back to you. It was a constant in your head which connected to every nerve ending in you body. It was the reason you jumped at every noise. It was the reason that you paid attention to any elevated unease you felt. It was the reason you held your tongue when they teased and tormented you. It was the reason you barely slept at night.

But that being said, there were times when you would let your guard slip and you might forget for just a moment exactly how much danger you were really in. Until the moment one of them set their dark gaze upon you and you would tense once again.

He tore his gaze from yours as he marched to the bedroom and Natasha followed merrily in his wake. He set you bouncing on the bed and directed you to kneel as he swiftly pulled the hoody from you; it tugged painfully on your ears and messed up your hair but he paid no attention. You were naked, except for the outlandish rabbit tail which tickled your ankles as you knelt.

Natasha pushed past him, dragging her nails over his cotton t-shirt, albeit her eyes never left yours. She crawled onto the bed and slinked her way over to you like a starved lioness who had spotted a tasty morsel. She ducked her head, her teeth grazed your nipple before closing over it and bit it gently as her tongue flicked over it in the moist heat of her mouth. It pebbled beneath her ministration and you bit your lip to keep the moan from escaping you as little beads of pleasure sparked straight to you pussy.

She continued to tease and toy you with her tongue as her fingers plucked at your other side until it too puckered and peaked. You didn’t realise what was coming until you felt the dull monotonous ache as the first clamp was secured; your nipple, rosy and hard, was now adorned with a tiny clamp, which pinched relentlessly as your sensitive areola, and decorated with a tiny bell and a delicate magenta bow. A second clamp followed in quick succession. You reached up to try and alleviate the blunt twinge; Bucky slapped your hands away and grabbed your chin in his large rough hand forcing you to look at him.

“No touching; or I’ll tie you hands behind your back.”

He glowered at you and you squeaked in response.

“Okay?” he barked.

“Yes, daddy,” you hurried your response softly and let your arms hang back loosely at your sides as you tried to ignore the pressure on your nipples; you pressed your thighs together. The little bells chimed quietly as you moved.

You said nothing but couldn’t hide the pout as Natasha produced a pair of fluffy rabbit ears attached to a headband; she carefully slid them onto your head as she tried to preserve the curls she had carefully styled into your hair only a few hours earlier. You were no stranger to them dressing you up like their little doll, but this pseudo bunny costume was seemingly a new one which they had added to their repertoire.

You waited anxiously to see what would happen next as they both divested themselves of their clothing. They leaned in and kissed each other as they stripped; their tongues battling together. Natasha was a noisy kisser who let out breathy whimpers as she pulled Bucky’s face to hers whilst he growled into her mouth animalistically. His strong hands, as large as they were, were not large enough to fully cover her ample breasts; she was curvy and well-endowed, larger than you. Her skin was marred with scars which bumped and grooved in white rugged lines sporadically over her body; you remembered the night you were made to lick and kiss each and every one of them as Bucky loomed over you and order you to make her feel beautiful. Sometimes when they took you to bed and when you felt you needed to win their favour you would do it again, without being asked.

You watched as their bodies became one, as Natasha sank down on to Bucky’s hardened and well-endowed length and they both groaned in satisfaction. Her fingers clutched tightly to his broad shoulders, one skin and the other a dark vibranium weapon. His body was a work of art; like a Roman statue you had seen once when you visited the Bargello Museum in Florence. Chiselled and smooth; his muscles rolled like a calm tide under the surface of his skin as they moved against each.

Natasha rode him slowly; as though savouring the pleasure as she slide up and down his girthy member. She tilted her head back and panted; her red waves swaying with each grind they made.

“Oh god, oh god,” she panted, her body shook and you knew she was close to any orgasm. His metal finger found the engorged nub between her legs and he teased her as he kissed and nipped the delicate milky skin at her neck, “please, oh please” she whispered breathlessly.

You watched as he tapped her clit then ran his finger around it before flicking it. You could see the muscles in her strong thighs quivering and they quickened their movements as she bobbed up and down, chasing her own pleasure and crying out in delight as she came; her juices flooding his dick and slickening it even more.

She barely had a chance to recover when he manhandled her into her next position; kneeling on all fours as he slid into her from behind. You knelt beside them on the bed and watched them like a voyeur; your own pussy twitching at the front row ticket you had inadvertently gotten to their sex fest. The little bells tinkled as you shifted and they both stilled; looking up at you ominously with hungry predatory eyes. Bucky smacked Natasha ass as he withdrew and climbed off the bed. He paid no heed to his nakedness; his hard cock bobbed in front of him with each step and it glistened from Natasha’s juices in the dim light of the bedroom.

You watched as he rummaged in the blanket box at the foot of the bed and shrank back in horror when he tossed an oversized stuffed bunny rabbit toy in your direction. It bounced off of you knee and landed belly up on the bed; embroidered smile and a fuchsia dildo, strapped around its little bunny legs, protruded indecently upwards towards the ceiling. You recoiled further.

He rounded behind you and gripped you easily under the arms; lifting you until you hovered reluctantly over the intended target. You wriggled in his arms and attempted to kick the toy away.

“No, no, no. Please,” you begged. Your face scrunched and you shook it from side to side. Natasha watched you with hungry eyes as she moved the toy back under you. Bucky’s voice rumbled in your ear; his Brooklyn drawl rasped.

“Come on, princess. You were moaning on Nat’s fingers little a needy like slut earlier. This is for you, show Daddy how gratefully you are and play with your new bunny.”

A sob ripped from your throat he lowered you and you sank down upon the fuchsia rubber phallus. It wasn’t overly large but you felt every inch of it as it ascended deep within you; your walls hugging it tightly as you contracted around the toy. The small plug pressed obnoxiously against it and made you feel full and bloated.

You bottomed out and you stilled, a stray tear leaked from your eye and rolled down the flushed curve of your cheek as you waited. Your thighs clenched around the bunny-rabbit stuffie between your legs. Bucky reached out and give you hard swat to your thigh which smarted and instantly left a red handprint.

“Come on baby, hop to it,” he leered.

He rounded on Natasha once again and entered her with one smooth thrust which forced her forward with a grunt.

Slowly you started to move as he raised a thick brow in warning; soon enough the bed was shuddering beneath you. You watched as he rutted into her; skin slapping and a medley of his grunting and her moaning was the cacophonies chore which filled the bedroom.

You didn’t want to but couldn’t hold back the groan which bubbled passed your lips as your pussy clenched at the toy; you fleetingly wondered how ridiculous you looked as you straddled the plushie and your face burned. Each time you bobbed upwards the little bells would chime out your shame, your ears would flop and your tail would jiggle. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried with ever fibre of your being to forget the depraved show you putting on; pretending this was happening to someone else, anyone else, but not you.

You didn’t want to but you couldn’t help the profound heat that was building between you thighs. The waves of warmth and intense pleasure as you rode the faux phallus. You didn’t want to but the audible noises emanating from Natasha and Bucky were spearing you on as they reached their peak. Grunting and crying out as their pleasure was finally gotten and the mattress jolted violently under your bent legs as Bucky emptied himself into his lover. You didn’t want to but you couldn’t stop when you muscles started to contract and ripple after ripple of hot desire erupted from your centre and out to the tips of your fingers and the ends of your toes. You didn’t want to cry out in pleasure as you fell forward, collapsing in a sweating flustered mess at their side.

You wriggled from the bunny; feeling it squelch free from your sopping cunt and you kicked it away. You buried you face in the duvet and let out a wailing sob; barely noticing the cool metal fingers as they gently brushed the hair from your flushed and sticky face.

Thank you so much for reading; I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader attempts to escape but she's quickly caught and brought back to the house to face the consequences. 
> 
> Please make sure that you read the tags carefully; this story contains mature content and this chapter specifically details acts of spanking (hand, belt and hairbrush) and anal play including questionable acts with a root of ginger.

Your feet pounded against the asphalt of the driveway; gigantic pine trees loomed over head and threatened to block out the view of the sky completely as they rose above you in an evergreen canopy. The minty and woodsy aroma invaded your nostrils in an exotic perfume; the once familiar aroma of your home city now nothing but a distant memory which you so dearly longed for despite its grotesqueness. The scent of tired people on hot days, unemptied garbage cans and even the stench of the streets the mornings after weekend revellers had staggered home to their pits. The air here was so foreign to you, so clear and so crisp it only emphasised your distance from all which was recognisable.

Your lungs burned and your weakened legs wobbled as they pumped their hardest in a bid to put more distance between you and the house which had been your prison. Away from the mocking voice which taunted you as you came on his fingers. The air around you wet and cool against your skin and the oversized Henley which swamped your frame did little to protect you from the elements.

You yelped out a startled squeal at the cool metal which encircled your waist with no warning and spun you off your track; your legs flailing awkwardly with the momentum, you breath catching in your throat. You pushed against Bucky's ridged limb and let out a little sob of defeat; like an errant toddler being wrestled into a bathtub as he half carried and half dragged your exhausted body back, back to your doom, back to your prison, back to your detention.

He thudded through the house; marching you to the corner and shoved your nose straight into the apex until all you could see was the darkness of the plush wallpaper. You sobbed in loud defeat; sent to the corner like a miscreant schoolchild, albeit the thick tears which spilled down your heated cheeks did little to provide evidence to the contrary. Your trembling legs buckled not once but twice, and each time he caught you as slid down the wall; a single strong arm curling around your ribs and pulling you upwards, as though you were weightless, and steadily set you back upon your feet with nothing more than a disgruntled grumble which bubbled from his throat.

You braced yourself against the wall, leaning forward and sobbing whole heartedly against it; preservation of its once immaculate state being the the furthest thing from your mind as your distress clawed you from the inside and vibrated through you like the repeated pounding of a Burmese gong. Your sweating fingers scratched at the paper in a bid to either keep you upright or perhaps scrape your way through to the other side and away from the furious beast who paced angrily behind you.

Time passed like the trickle of molasses; slowly and thickly and it seemed to coat the very air around you. The passage of time was dauntingly slow; you could have been there for minutes or hours or days. The only hint of movement being the gasping wails of your sobs having gradually depleted to quieter sniffles, the headache which raged angrily in your cranium and halting of angry pacing had finally stopped.

“You can come out of the corner,” his voice came hollow but clear in the stillness of the room.

You turned marginally until his hulking frame came into view, his strong jaw clenched, and his arms crossed with his legs slightly spread. An imposing stance. His crystal eyes bored into you and you slid back down the wall again with a whimper and pulled your knees to your chest and hastily wiping the melange of tears and sweat from your blotchy face.

You tried to apologise, to say that you were sorry, but your voice refused to work and instead only managed to silently mouth the words beggingly through your quivering lips. He neared you and squatted down; balancing solidly on the balls of his feel as his muscular thighs boxed you in and surrounded your field of vision with nothing more than his denim clad crotch. His calloused hand was surprisingly gentle as he pushed back the sticky strands of your moistened hair and you choked out a lone sob as you held your breath. You wondered if now would be the time he finally rid himself of you; split your head open against the wall and observe in satisfaction as your brain leaked out onto the oak floor. Or crushed your trachea in one hand and watch as the last of your breath was squeezed from you.

His hand clasped your jaw as his voice came in a low timbered rumble from his chest. “You’re not,” he responded, “you’re sorry that you didn’t manage to get away; but you’re not sorry that you tried.”

The muscle in his jaw twitch and his eyes flickered with the passing of an emotion which you couldn’t quite identify. “I understand. I understand probably more than you know.”

He sighed and rose to his feet, walking across the room and returned with a straight-backed wooden chair. It had always seemed so out of place in the house; with its weathered dark wood and intricately carved roses which grew on thorny vines along each of its beams. A cherished antique, polished and oiled and cared for over time until, perhaps, this was the only one left in the set.

“I’m an old-fashioned man; I come from old fashioned times,” Bucky murmured as he placed the chair in the centre of the room. “Natasha has her way of doing things and I have mine.”

He came toward you again and lifted you to your feet; his fingers encircling your meek biceps as he guided you to the chair and pointed to the floor.

“Stand right there,” he slid around you and sat; his eyes flickering down your body then back up to your face whilst you shook until his appraisal.

His voice was soft, gentle; you almost found it mocking with how passive it sounded.

“I’m going to being proceedings,” he paused, “for a long, firm, old-fashioned, over the knee spanked bottom. In my day this was the sort of punishment you could expect. And it worked. You learned your lesson after being taken over a knee.”

Your lip trembled and a lone tear sprang from your eye; the reality was that there was no way out of this, no bargaining, no running, no excuses. He dragged you down, pulling on your wrist until you were draped rigidly over his broad thighs.

“You ran because you think you shouldn’t be here. You ran because you were embarrassed; but whatever embarrassment you felt earlier will be a drop in the ocean compared with what’s to come. Keep your feet on the floor and your hands to the front,” he harshly squeezed a buttock, “understand?”

He didn’t wait for a response, “if they come back, I’ll cut a switch and take that to you. Trust me when I say, you don’t want that. You’ve got a whole catalogue of misdemeanours to be atoned for. You’re going to be one sorry girl by the time I’ve finished with you.”

You whimpered as the doom of your impending punishment washed over you and swirled violently in your gut. The short helm of the stolen Henley was tugged upwards presenting the clear target of your bottom encased in teal panties patterned with slices of magenta watermelons.

His hand slapped solidly down upon one cheek then rubbed away the sting. A volley of swats landed; they rang out sharply and cracked and smarted your flesh. His hand pulled at your skin, squeezing it ungently in his large grasp and you gasped at the sensation.

“I’ve got plenty of time to deal with you,” he said as more slaps rained down solidly.

Your breath got a little heavier and you let a low whine escape from your pursed lips as the cracking of flesh against flesh sounded out; the nipping and burning pain in your rear building with each strike to your pinkening cheeks.

He hummed thoughtfully as he skelped away.

“All of this because you were embarrassed about getting off on my fingers,” he teased. “Is this not more embarrassing for you? Being taken over a knee and spanked like a child?”

Another muffled whimper busts from your gnawed lips before they descended swiftly into yelps of pain as his spanks fell heavier; the burning of your cheeks building painfully with each carefully placed swat until all of your rear ached in equal measures.

You anguished cries grew louder as he moved down your thighs then switch back to you bottom concentrating his efforts on one spot until you squirmed and sobbed out in distress. Your visible anguish did not dissuade from repeating the pattern on the other side.

“I’m going to cover every inch of this backside,” Bucky told her with an air of lazy determination.

You let out another sob.

“Crying already? We’ve only just begun, sweetpea; this is just the warm-up.” He announced as he laid a dull spank in the centre of your bottom with a thudding wallop. “Difficult times ahead for you, little lady.”

His hand pushed between your thighs; digits pressing into the soft flesh as he moved your reluctant legs apart. His fingers slid up to the apex of your thighs and pressed against the crotch of your panties, worrying the cotton close to your sensitive centre. Your head dropped forward as he tutted loudly. Reprimandingly.

“Wet through,” he chastised. His broad fingers stayed there for a while, teasing your wetness as he sighed loudly with faux disappointment.

He tapped your thigh lightly, “on your knees he directed.”

You slid to the floor and shuffled in front of him; your knees digging into the floorboards and your smarting bottom hovering just over your ankles. You face was hot and sticky from your tears and your resentment of having been spanked in your bid for freedom mounted with the prickly burning of your rear. Your eyes flickered up to meet his and a soft unschooled scowl fell across your delicate features.

His sharp eyes narrowed, “don’t you dare look at me like that. Get your nose down on that floor and get your knees apart. Bottom in the air.”

He left you like that, pouting miserably from your position on the floor whilst he pottered around, flitting from room to room as though you weren’t presented indelicately like a wanton filly in the middle of the lounge. Your muscles twitched but you dared not move. Eventually he settled back down on his rose carved thrown.

“Very good,” he praised playfully. “Very obedient.”

He plucked you from the floor and set you kneeling on the chair which he had once occupied; your forearms resting uncomfortably on the intricately carved designs. He rounded the chair until he was facing you, bracing his hands either side of your forearms and stooping to look you dead in the eye.

“Now, you know, and I know that the proper way for girl to have her bottom spanked is with her panties down. But you see, I’m a bit concerned about that wet little pussy of yours dripping all over my chair,” his face broken out into an arrogant smirk as your face burned in mortification.

This was your true punishment; the embarrassment you felt at orgasming around his fingers as he had teased and toyed with you earlier paled to insignificance in comparison to the torturous method he was using to punish you now for your short lived jailbreak.

He stood up and circled you again; trailing a finger slowly down your spine and hooking it into the elasticated waistband of your panties and yanking them downward to sit just below the curve of your ass.

You stiffened as your rouged cheeks were exposed; peaking out from the helm of that Henley which he pushed upwards, giving him a clear unobstructed view of your bottom.

He laid a firm swat against your now naked flesh and you let out a little sob, your fingers clutched tightly around a decorative wooden beam of the chair. The quite chinking of a belt buckle tinkled in your ears; the soft zipping of leather against denim as he slid it free from the beltloops. Your palms dug painfully into the carved rung as you squeezed it tightly in anticipation.

“In my day this is what happened to naughty brats who didn’t do as they were told.”

His hand settle on one of your cheeks and pulled it to one side, exposing you horridly and you yelp as his hand spanked painful against your tight hole and you sprang forward in surprise.

“Back into position,” he reprimanded, “head down and bottom out.”

You jolted as his finger pushed through your wet folds and rubbed your sensitive clit, chuckling quietly as you bucked into his hand.

“Soaking wet down there. Naughty girls get their bottoms punished.” He reiterated as he trailed his finger, sopping with your juices, back and between the valley of your cheeks. You flinched as he circled his finger around the tight ring of muscle before pushing his way in. You wailed at the intrusion.

“Naughty girls don’t just get their bottoms spanked; they get their bottoms punished in another way.” He grunted as he moved his finger in and out.

You moaned at the uncomfortable stretch; the tight pinching made his digit feel bigger than it actually was. He didn’t relent as he continued to speak.

“This is just the start. Soon I’m going to plug you; plug that hole.”

You whined in adject defeat.

“I know, its humiliating but that’s what happens to bad girls. Bad girls need to get taught a lesson. We’re going to punish this bottom, aren’t we? In future maybe you’ll think about your behaviour.”

He slid his finger free but the relief from their absence was short lived as it was quickly replaced with a cool, narrow plug. It took a moment to realise that whatever he’d done was slowing burning; a white hot pulsing of pain which raged within your tight channel, you wriggled your hips as though you could divest yourself from what he had placed inside you.

His finger tapped against the little plug.

“This is ginger, it’s a Victorian punishment,” he murmured to you; his unkempt stubble rubbed roughly against the shell of your ear. “The harder you clench, the harder it burns. But you deserve it, don’t you?” His question was rhetorical, and you didn’t bother to try and respond as you twitched in anticipation.

He wiggled the ginger root with his fingers and you let out a sharp cry as the heat throbbed inside you.

He rubbed you bottom, jiggling your rump. His voice was soft, it lacked aggression but that didn’t mean there would be any leniency for you. The man might still be an enigma to you but that you knew.

“I want you to think about your behaviour throughout this punishment and accept that your behaviour has been unacceptable. There’s no need to rush this lesson, we have plenty of time. I know there will be no clenching; not with that ginger in place.”

He laid a light spank on your cheek.

“Don’t think your sobs are going to make any difference; there is a job that needs to get done here.”

You sprang forward and let out a loud wail as the worn leather snap ferociously against your already tender flesh and left a fiery ribbon of pain flashing in its wake.

His hand tangled in your hair and he used his grasp to tug you back into position.

“Be quiet,” he barked, “you deserve this. You’ve been a naughty girl and if I hear a noise like that again those panties will come off and I’ll use them to gag you; do you understand me?”

You cried as you nodded; your voice thick with tears, “yes, Sir.”

“That’s you’re final warning.”

You sobbed as you waited, bent and poised, ready for the next strike.

“I don’t think I can do this, Sir.” You whimpered.

He threaded the buckle of the belt through your splayed thighs and pushed it through the folds of your pussy; the cool metal rubbed frustratingly slow against your clit and your thighs flexed.

He tutted.

“You can, and you will. Natasha was right, wasn’t she? You moan and protest but look at you. Dripping wet for me. Panties down, and a red bottom in display. No leniency for you. And still this pussy of yours remains soaked.”

He dragged the belt back and away; his fingers ghosted carefully over the welts.

“You won’t be sitting comfortably for a while,” he murmured.

The belt landed two, three, four, five more times. Each lash landing in a neat horizontal stripe as you cried and gasps through each one until you were left gulping for air.

He dropped the belt on the glass coffee table with a clatter; his hand returning to your cheeks to inspect his handywork and the reddened blotches which marred your once creamy flesh. He quickly divested you of the ginger plug; the burning continued to linger but not as intensely as it once had.

“I expect you to do so much better. In future I expect you to apply some of your intelligence.”

He tapped the back of your head with a finger before you hoisted back into the air and settled limply over his lap; something light balanced on your lower back.

There was no warning or hesitation as he spread your cheeks, his finger moving lower until he was teasing your sensitive bud. A wispy groan of pleasure escaped your lips as he teased you; drawing back as the pleasure build in your core. Wet with your juices he pressed the digit firmly into your bottom and you let out a disgruntled cry. You shook your broken head and wondered how you body could devise so much pleasure; it made you cry harder, defeated and ashamed.

He shushed you.

“Let’s take a look at this bottom. I know, I know.” He murmured, “Is this humiliating for you, doll?”

His finger pulled free and whatever had been balanced on your back disappeared. Something flat and cool began rubbing circles on your bottom, a small paddle perhaps. A quick volley of strikes rained down on your stinging rear; your bottom and thigh wobbled as a wooden hairbrush slapped unforgivingly. The strikes moved lower until the aim was directed to the sensitive sit spots at the very tops of your thighs, where they met the crease of your bottom.

You released an anguished wail and your legs kicked up but still he did not relent. The hardened brush beat down against your burning, crackling skin until you wriggled in his lap and panicked cries burst forth from your swollen lips as you feared he would never stop. You pursed your lips and screamed into your mouth as you gritted your teeth, legs kicking out behind you as you tipped forward. He grabbed the back of your Henley and tugged you backwards and back into position.

“Don’t you dare think you can have a tantrum over my knee. Your behaviour should have been better, and now you’ll know for future, won’t you? You’ll think twice in future.”

The brush tapped relentlessly against your burning bottom as your wails and begging continue; they persisted long after the brush was abandoned. Until all that remained was your broken slumped form draped in defeat over Bucky’s lap.

You cried more as he steered you back to your corner. Back to think about your actions. Back to think about your behaviour. Hopefully not back to wait for Natasha.

Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Comments are welcome.


End file.
